Jaye Michael
PART TWO: CONVOLUTION
Chapter Twelve: Proliferation
For while we have sex in the mind,
we truly have none in the body.
– D. H. Lawrence
OCTOBER 9, 2:00 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
“Wake up ladies. Breakfast is served.”
OCTOBER 9, 2:45 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
“That’s the last of the dishes,” Ginette noted as she tossed the dishtowel onto the counter. “Let’s go check on John.”
Giggling, they all trooped into a bedroom, positioning themselves around the bed. Carla grabbed the covers and quickly yanked them off. “Okay bitch,” she snarled with her Spanish accent. “It’s time to get your gringo ass outta bed and get to work.”
Sheila joined in and smacked the underwear clad bottom lying on the bed. It jerked, but it didn’t move to get up. Then, they all grabbed the body in the bed and unceremoniously dragged it into the bathroom.
Ginette ran ahead and turned the shower on. “Should I make it cold?” she asked.
“No!” the others shouted.
“We want to have a little fun before we kill her,” Debbie explained.
They all squealed as they threw John into the shower. Carla got a razor.
OCTOBER 9, 3:35 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
“Get dressed bitch.” Clothes were thrown on the bed, female clothes. John cowered on the floor in the corner while the four women he had been pimping stood over him. Sheila held his gun loosely in her hand.
“We said, ‘Get dressed bitch.’” Carla and Ginette repeated in unison.
Sheila waved the gun at him and then toward the bed and the clothes on it. Reluctantly, John inched upright, fear in his eyes as they remained glued to the gun.
“Those are women’s clothes,” he said looking down at the items on the bed.
“You’re a woman now, bitch. Get dressed.”
John stared at the others for a moment, then looked down at the breasts on his chest. He looked like he was in shock. Suddenly, he collapsed onto the bed, crying.
OCTOBER 9, 4:55 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
The five of them sat at the kitchen table. Sheila still held the gun loosely pointed at John.
“John needs a new name. How about we call her Joan, or better yet, Joanie?”
Joanie was silent, but the others agreed enthusiastically.
“I also guess she needs to get her white ass out on the street and get to working. It’s our turn to relax and count the money as it rolls in. Whaddya say, girls? Does Joanie need to turn a few tricks or should she be a nice little housewife and keep this place up for us?” Sheila asked with a smirk.
Carla laughed. “Now that she’s a mujer, she needs to be one of the girls. Let’s take her out with us.”
Joanie put her head down on the table and cried again.
OCTOBER 9, 10:45 P.M., CHINATOWN, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
Dressed in a light green tank top, a matching green micro mini skirt with a floral design, taupe pantyhose and knee high, green vinyl high heel boots topped by a too small, thin, green windbreaker that the others would only allow her to zip to an inch or so above her belly button, Joanie stood in the street dejectedly. With the shoulder lengthy curly, blond wig to cover his shorter black hair, bright red inch-long glue on nails, and some not very judiciously applied makeup, there was no question what she was supposed to be doing and it took less than five minutes for a customer to stop.
The late model red sports car had its top up against the evening chill, but the two men in the front bucket seats were clearly looking for something hot. The one on the passenger rolled down his window.
“Watcha doin’, babe?”
Joanie just kept looking at the ground dejectedly.
“She’s lookin’ for some fun,” Sheila answered for her. “How about you guys? Wanna party?” Sheila grabbed Joanie by the hand and stepped up to the car, dragging her reluctant companion along.
“Sure babe. We’d love to party. Whatdaya got in mind? A quickie would be nice. You know anyone interested?”
Sheila again answered for Joanie, who was shivering now, possibly from the cool weather. “Sure. Fifty bucks apiece, one at a time, or a hundred for the two of you together. Whichever comes first and it’s over. She’ll tongue you or she’ll fuck you or she’ll take it in the ass. It makes no difference to her; just no rough stuff and you use a rubber. More if you want more.”
The two men conferred briefly. “Seventy five for everything.”
“Deal! Get in the car, Joanie. Have fun, bitch.”
OCTOBER 12, 1997, 3:30 P.M., 22 GORNA STREET, APARTMENT 3B, UPPER MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
“Hijas, hijas, aquá! Ve aquá!” Carla ran out of John’s–now Joanie’s–room. “Girls, look here. Look what I found.”
She ran back into the bedroom with the others close behind. Apparently, Carla had been snooping since Joanie was less likely to beat her for it than John had been.
“It’s Joanie’s stash! She’s got coke, pills, an address book, a calendar, and money–lots and lots of money.”
Carla held up several sheaves of bills and began dancing around the room dribbling greenbacks on each of the others.
Sheila picked up the address book and started leafing though it. “Hey!” she shouted excitedly. “Little Joanie knows more people than we thought. There’s a bunch of real ‘rich and famous’ stiffs here. I’ve read about them in those newspapers I get from the supermarket, you know the ones you all laugh at me about.”
“You mean the ones about aliens and Elvis?” Ginette interjected.
Yeah. Them papers. I wonder how many of these stiffs we’ve had as Johns?” Tossing the address book on the bed, she started leafing through the appointment book.
“Why Joanie, why didn’t you tell us there’s a party tonight? And at that new club, Chic. Boy what a dumb name, but I hear it’s really hot.”
Joanie just sat on the edge of the bed dejectedly staring at the floor.
“Let’s go to the party and then take a vacation. We haven’t had a vacation in a long while,” Ginette chimed in with a huge smile on her face. “We got enough money here to have a real blast. What say, girls?”
“Good! But so does the party, too.” Debbie never had been very bright and, ever since John had accidentally shot her up twice and double-dosed her with heroin last month, she had a lot of trouble making decisions.
“So let’s do both,” Sheila squealed happily. “We’ll hit the party and then take a vacation. Where should we go?”
“Puerto Rico is lovely this time of year,” Ginette offered.
“I fucking grew up there, bitch! Took me my whole life to get out,” Carla laughed as she spoke.
“Well, like that old commercial, there’s always ‘Disney World,’” laughed Ginette.
“Nah. I want something adult, some place where we could maybe get real jobs and give up all this.” Sheila became pensive. “How about Las Vegas?”
“Oooh, madre dios. I always wanted to see Wayne Newton.”
“Ya know Carla, Sheila’s got a good idea there. With all those casinos, we’ve got to be able to find jobs we like. I heard they even have schools there that teach you how to play cards for a living.”
“I think we have a winner,” Ginette smiled, noting that Carla, who loved playing cards, was wavering. “How about you, Joanie?”
“Of course Joanie’s coming with us. I can’t wait to see her in a waitress uniform,” Sheila laughed and was quickly joined by the others; all but Joanie, who shuddered and continued to stare silently at the floor.
“So what are we wearing to the party?”
OCTOBER 12, 9:45 P.M., CLUB CHáC, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
“Hey, Ginette. Some of these guys are real hunks. Sheila was almost drooling. “I got my eye on that tall guy over there with the Armani suit. How ‘bout you?”
Ginette smiled. “Oh, Carla and I have been flirting with the twin muscle guys at that table between the bar and the band.”
“What do we do with our little puta, Joanie?” Carla chimed in.
“No problem. See the guy with the guards by him?” Sheila pointed. “He’s a U.S. Congressman and Joanie’s little black book lists him as being really into dominating others. Joanie is so passive now, he’ll have a ‘hard on’ for her within one minute of meeting her.”
“That takes care of tonight’s fun,” Ginette noted licking her lips in anticipation. “What about tomorrow? Will Joanie come with us to Vegas?”
“Well, it would serve her right if we left without her. We have all the money. We have the only keys to the apartment. We even have the airline tickets, so she can’t turn them in for cash. Like we told her in the cab, she’s back at the apartment by 3:30 P.M. tomorrow or she’s on her own. And remember, she knows that she can’t even dress herself.” Sheila gave Joanie a hard glare as she finished speaking, “You doesn’t have a lot of choices, do you, Joanie?”
Joanie looked up panic stricken. “Was I really that bad that you would do this to me? I fed you. I gave you a place to rack out. I even got you one of them quacks at the clinic when you needed it. I bailed you out when you screwed up and got caught. I kept the trash on the street from bothering you. So why you doing this to me?” Tears began so dribble out of her eyes. She blinked hard to make them go away and, when that didn’t work, she dabbed gently at her eyes just as she had been taught.
“You also took every cent we made,” Sheila answered, shaking an angry fist.
“ ¡Sá puta! You made us beg for anything we wanted or needed.”
“And it was even odds whether you would beat us or give us the money. Or just beat us even if we didn’t ask.” Ginette too was glaring at Joanie, teeth barred in anger.
“Now that you’re a woman too, how do you like being passed around like some goddam joint? You just gave us to people–for free sometimes. And when did you ever even think about our feelings?” Sheila’s voice began to rise as she was getting a good head of steam going, “Never. That’s when.”
“Shhh! People are staring. You’ll get us kicked out.” Ginette interrupted with a stage whisper.
Sheila glanced away from Joanie, clearly still angry. People were beginning to stare at them. She took a couple of deep breaths, tossed Ginette a brief smile and a nod of thanks. Then, in a lower voice, she continued.
“Right. Now you’re going to find out what it’s really like to be a whore! Come with me, little bitch!” She seized Joanie by the arm and dragged her over to the man about whom she had just been talking. She introduced them both and flirted a bit with the guards while Joanie stood mutely staring at the ground. Five minutes later the Congressman was dancing with an unwilling but totally compliant Joanie and Sheila had moved on to greener pastures.
OCTOBER 12, 10:45 P.M., 1422 KENSINGTON AVENUE, BAYONNE, NEW JERSEY
“Damn it, Marge! Leave me alone. I feel like shit.”
George Scorelli curled up in a ball in his bed and tried to ignore his wife while she continued to fuss over him.
“What did you eat today George? I know it wasn’t the lasagna we had for dinner or I’d be sick too.”
“Marge! Please just go away, willya? Let a man suffer in peace.”
“You were out with that low life Marty all night last night, weren’t you? What were you up to? Maybe you did something that’s made you sick, hmm? What did you two do? Is that why you’re sick?” Marge scolded as she stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
“Muurfdp. Weeve moo Awoome.”
Marge kissed him on the forehead and left the room. Clearly, she loved her husband deeply, but she wasn’t under any illusions about what he did late at night and felt it only fair that he finally suffer from his escapades as much as she did waiting up all night for him to drag himself home.
“I’ll be right back with some soup. Maybe that will help.”
George pulled the thermometer from his mouth and threw it after her. “I said, ‘leave me the hell alone.’ I don’t feel good.” Privately, he wondered fearfully if this was maybe some super fast-acting strain of AIDS from that the whore he’d been with.
OCTOBER 13, 1:15 A.M., 11 HEATHER LANE, QUEENS, NEW YORK
Congressman Goldman, who had been most eager to encourage Joanie to call him “Frank,” dismissed the guards as soon as they all got back to his penthouse apartment. As soon as they were gone, he led Joanie to a darkened room, gesturing for her to go in first. A moment later, he followed behind her, closing the door and engulfing them in total darkness.
Fearfully, Joanie listened as Frank worked his way along the wall, making odd-sounding jinglings and rustlings as his hand slipped along the wall in the darkness. Finally, he found the light switch, and there was a flash of blinding light. Joanie blinked in pain; her head hadn’t quit aching since she’d become a woman, it seemed. Finally, when her eyes adjusted enough to permit her to see again, Joanie gasped and started shivering.
The room had no windows and even though this was the top floor of a high-rise building, the walls, ceiling and floor looked like solid stone. There were chains hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. Leather straps of various kinds hung from the walls and there were more flung loosely on a badly scarred and worn, but seemingly sturdy old wooden table. Also on the table were several wooden paddles, a couple of knives several daggers and the largest collection of dildoes Joanie had ever seen. This was going to be a very long night, possibly the longest Joanie–or John–had ever experienced or imagined.
She froze in fear. If she had turned around, she would have been even more afraid when she saw the look of pure lust on Frank’s face.
OCTOBER 13, 1:15 P.M., CLUB CHáC, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
Sheila waved to Carla and Ginette as they headed out with the two muscle boys. Then she put her arm back on Armani guy’s shoulder and smiled. It was going to be a very good night.
Comments
Tradeoffs-12
Well, tonight's meal is a full course of JUST DESERTS.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Just thought...
If the girls do leg it out of town within the next 24 hours AND they minimise their sexual encounters, then it could take a while before Las Vegas citizens start encountering the virus. And due to the girls' previous occupation, there won't be much evidence in NY linking them to the latest transformees.
So soon we'll have three different threads: Eunice L / Lyle E (plus a subthread from the POV of their captors / virus developers), the (former?) prostitutes, and their (last?) customers.
As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!
"Ain't confusion great?"
"Ain't confusion great?" Just remember, this is how disease vectors actually spread.
And this particular virus
has found some ideal hosts. It is entirely possible that within days there will be outbreaks in at least a handful of cities. With the secrecy surrounding the research program, I doubt anyone will be quick to admit their complicity and no one will believe what is happening until the vector has spread to the point it could be as widespread as the swine flu. I doubt there will as much sexual transfer (from the new victims) to begin with as some STD's but there should be a generous helping of crazed victims self-injuring or being injured during medical intervention. While paramedics know to protect themselves it isn't always possible with the truly manic, and the newly turned are going to be manic. It's one thing for a junkie street walker to wake up in a new chassis, but quite another when a congressman experiences the same thing. I have a feeling that the secret government team in charge of all this will try to "handle it" on their own at first, fearful that the illegal acts they have committed will come to light.
One question though. You did not mention if all the new girls, including Joanie, look much like Eunice. If they are converting to her DNA then they should at least look like sisters, even if they started out with different builds. That alone would be an excellent diagnostic tool to find victims, even those who do not wish to be found, and contain them...but only if the creeps who started this make it all public right away. Then there is the problem that viral transfer is not obvious until there is a DNA transfer as well. And if the DNA transfer does not happen at the same time, well then we have a really big problem indeed. Think of the people who get "upgrades" in their looks/physiques. Not all of them will come forward voluntarily to be quarantined and possibly "fixed."
This is getting to be a really fun read!
SuZie
SuZie
Great Questions, Excellent Points
Great questions, excellent points. I'll answer some of them in the story, but I must admit you've asked at least one question I don't think got addressed.
As to how the infected will be identified, this is a question I've always loved. Just because they have the same DNA doesn't mean they will look all that similar. For example, imagine two twins--one starves herself and the other eats for three. Someone who is 6' tall and someone who is 4' tall both get infected, will they look alike enough to be identified? Should the public be asked to report anyone who's looking different this week like with the insanity about having truckers identify potential terrorists? I guess that means you'd better not change your hair color at the beauty salon or go on a crash diet or cross dress, or...well, you get the idea. For that matter, what if someone is infected and uses a home hair coloring kit. Would that be enough to throw others off?
The only realiable test would be a blood test to determine one's DNA, which takes about a week at the moment if I understand correctly. So, that means the entire country needs to be quarantined? Think about the movie "Outbreak" with Dustin Hoffman and Rene Russo. The folks that do infection control for a living have a tough job. This would be even tougher.
Science Fiction
I notice this was listed as science fiction?
You have a fictional problem but are using standard non fictional solutions trying to solve it!!
Why can't we have a DNA sniffer system which can immediately detect the DNA mutants responsible?
LoL
Rita
Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)
LoL
Rita
The problem with science
The problem with science fiction is it often uses fictional devices both to create the conflict AND to solve it. Unless this is very well done, the reader tends to feel cheated. I've always held that the more extreme the fictional McGufffin, the more important it is to tie the rest of the story to reality.
Once, when I was editing TSAT, I received a story submission that had so many fictional concepts that Andy Hollis and I thought it was completely unbelievable (as written). We spent a significant amount of time trying to convince the author to add a couple of humorous references and let it be read as a farce; a gentle ribbing of many of the pulp stories that used to do this. Needless to say, the author had a different opinion and we were never able to come to an agreement on what to publish. A shame really; I think it could have been a successful story.